


Fade to Green

by rowenablade



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: And Loki Has Magic Powers and A Massive Ego, Dom Loki (Marvel), Dubious Consent, F/M, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Mindfuck, Not Canon Compliant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader has a crush, Sex Magic, Telepathy, You do the math
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 10:36:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16721712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowenablade/pseuds/rowenablade
Summary: You're a scientist, trying to learn more about Loki's powers.  Your sneaky plan to steal a DNA sample from him fails and he shows you the proper way to request something of a god.Set in an Avengers AU where Civil War and Infinity War didn't happen.  Not in the least bit canon-compliant and honestly probably a pretty clumsy setup, I just wanted to write some Loki smut.Warning for dubcon and mindfuckery.





	Fade to Green

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first ever published fic, I'm kinda nervous! Most of the stuff I write is a lot more plot-centric and introspective, but for whatever reason the first thing I feel confident enough to share is a PWP. *shrugs*
> 
> If soundtracks interest you, "Slow, Love, Slow" by Nightwish and "Rev 22-20" by Puscifer were major influences here.

“You have a lot to learn about subterfuge, mortal.”

As Loki’s fingers dig into the soft spots beneath your jaw, you admit to yourself you might have screwed up. 

Disguising yourself as one of his groupies had seemed like a good idea, at first. All the super-beings have their own little creepy, obsessive fanbases, even ones with a penchant for murder and mayhem like the green-eyed god of mischief. They follow the superheroes around the way teenage girls used to mob rock stars, pleading for pictures or trinkets or even just a few seconds of eye contact. Except for Black Widow, who broke the arm of one fan who got a little too handsy, the heroes regard the groupies as a harmless nuisance. Loki in particular hardly seems to notice the fangirls; he only comes to Earth, after all, when there is a lot more on his mind than his own ego.

Your employers at the research lab desperately want a sample of Loki’s DNA; almost nothing is known about his magical abilities, and scientists the world over are itching to learn if it’s genetic in nature or an acquired skill. Pretending to be a groupie seemed like a reasonable enough plan; get close, fawn over him a little, pluck a hair and disappear into the crowd before he has a chance to notice.

You made the most obvious volunteer, being the lab employee that most closely matched the demographic of your typical Loki fan. The fact that you’ve always had a bit of a crush on him hardly mattered. It was just a dumb celebrity crush and not enough to distract you from your work, despite the light teasing from your coworkers.

Okay, it wasn’t the most sophisticated plan, but you had done your best to commit to the role. You studied the Loki fangirls and carefully chosen a flattering black and green outfit such as they favored, done your makeup in green and gold. You’d blended in with the gaggle of girls tailing him, cooing as they followed him from Avengers Tower to a nondescript hotel several blocks away. You’d broken from the crowd, dashed up three flights of stairs and managed to catch him alone in the hallway outside the room. You’d even managed to play off your labored breathing and flushed face from your sprint as starstruck delight. Then he’d felt you pull out one of his hairs, and everything had fallen apart.

He has you pinned against the wall, one hand on your neck, the other on your wrist, and his eyes snap with fury as they search your face.

“Who sent you?”

“No one!” you squeak. Maybe there’s still a chance to lie your way to safety. “I’m sorry, I really am, I just…I think you’re so amazing, and I just wanted…I’m sorry, I’m so stupid…”

He lets you babble like this without ever taking his eyes from yours, and as your voice trails off you can tell he isn’t fooled. A hint of a smirk plays across his fine-boned face.

The hand that was gripping your throat moves down across your body, sending a chill through you, before darting into the purse hanging at your hip. Suddenly realizing what he’s going after, you struggle, but he simply leans his weight against you and retrieves your lab ID from your bag.

“That’s…it’s not what you think…” you stammer. His eyes flick away from you for a moment to examine your ID, and you take the chance and shove him away with all your might.

You manage to create enough space to wriggle free and take off running down the hallway, but you barely make it ten feet before he catches you again. This time you feel the point of a dagger at the back of your neck, and his breath against your ear as he whispers your name.

“There’s nowhere you can run from me,” he hisses. He drags you around to face a door that opens at his touch. The room he shoves you into is a run-of-the-mill hotel room, and you wonder if it’s the last place you’re ever going to see.

“Please,” you whimper as the door shuts the two of you in. “I only wanted to learn more about you, I…we…mean you no harm, I promise.”

He laughs. “You think I’m afraid of you?” He advances on you, and you look around wildly for something you can use as a weapon. You’re pretty sure everything is bolted down but you lunge for a lamp anyway. Before you can grab it the room spins, colors smearing, and you find yourself losing your footing in the ensuing dizziness.

When you regain equilibrium the room is completely different. The door that was once behind Loki is now to your right, but when you try to open it it doesn’t budge. The furniture is no longer the cheap hotel amenities but that of a well-appointed royal chamber, and Loki himself has changed as well. He was wearing a conservative dark suit when you started tailing him, but now he’s wearing the same black and green leathers he wore when he attacked Earth. It reminds you that this man is dangerous. It reminds you that this man is not a man.

_Not a man, but still an egomaniac_ , you remember. _I can use that._

“Of course you’re not afraid of me,” you say carefully. “And I’m sorry, I really am. It was wrong of me to try and take from you without asking. My colleagues and I are just so desperate to understand you, your powers…”

He smirks, and flicks his wrist, and the dagger he was holding is gone.

“You Midgardians,” he sighs. “Always grasping for what you cannot possibly hope to hold.”

He steps toward you and you shrink back, only to feel strong hands gripping your shoulders from behind.

The Loki in front of you vanishes in a shimmer of green light, and you feel the god’s breath on your neck once more.

“These tricks,” he whispers, “are no more a miracle to me than the beating of your heart is a miracle to you. I mastered them as a child, and in that time a generation of your kind lived and died. And you think you can hope to understand my power by putting a piece of me under a microscope?”

There’s something different about the air in the room. Breathing is becoming difficult, as if the air has gotten heavier. You feel its weight in your lungs, and when you blink the colors behind your eyelids are pulsing shades of green.

“What are you doing to me?” You’re shocked at how difficult it is to speak, the words thick and slow in your mouth, like honey.

“Only existing.” His lips are grazing your ear now. “It isn’t magic. It’s only a part of nature you’re too small to understand.”

You can think of no response to that. It seems like the easiest thing in the world to fall against him, his solid form against your back, holding you up. His hands have moved from your shoulders to your waist, playing delicately over the fabric of your black and green dress.

“Your people worshipped me once,” he says. “You know that?”

You shake your head, more to clear it than in negation. “Feared you. You…were the villain in the old myths. The…trickster…”

“In most of them, yes.” He toys with the bodice of your dress. “Still, there were always a few mortals who sought my favor. As you well know.”

“I don’t worship you.”

He turns you around to face him, and you see that he is grinning.

“You will.”

He pulls you into a kiss, and it’s like drowning. The strength flees your body, your knees buckle and if not for his arms holding you up you’d crash right to the floor. There’s nothing to breathe but that cloying, honeyed air, and it’s not enough. You try to pull away from the kiss, but Loki is gripping the back of your head and there’s nothing you can do but squirm as he breathes blackness into you…

He releases you before you pass out, and you gasp as green starbursts explode across your vision.

You feel his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up again, and you struggle to turn away.

“Please,” you beg. “Please don’t, it _hurts_ …”

“You’re the one hurting yourself, pet,” he croons. “You’re in the presence of a god. Your body craves to submit to me, to worship me as your nature demands. To defy me can bring you nothing but pain.”

He claims your lips again, and this time some deeply-buried survival instinct takes control of your body. Instead of struggling you push forward, pressing your curves against him, your lips parting to deepen your kiss.

The change is instantaneous. The burning in your lungs vanishes and is replaced with a feeling of being filled with cold, clear light. Your heavy limbs feel strong again. Every nerve is at attention, raw and exposed and pure.

“Good girl,” Loki whispers against your neck. The words cause goosebumps to break out on your skin and you can’t help but lean closer to him, chasing the sensation.

This seems to please him, and he kisses you almost tenderly on the lips. “Isn’t it better this way?” His hands are moving over you again, tugging at the fabric of your dress. “You’ve nothing to fear now, pet. You’re in the hands of a god. Anything I wish to do with you is in the service of a higher power. You’re very lucky, aren’t you?”

You can’t speak through the euphoric haze you’re in, but you sense that Loki doesn’t expect a response. You feel cool air on more and more of your bare skin as pieces of your clothing fall away. You can’t tell how quickly things are happening, or even a real sequence of events. It seems like Loki is kissing you, undressing you, whispering in your ear all at once. You can’t tell if you’re feeling two hands on your body or dozens.

You surface at the sound of your dress hitting the floor. The fabric pools around your ankles and you look up, startled, into Loki’s eyes. 

“Wait,“ you stammer. “You’ve made your point, you can let me go now. I’ll just-“.

The look he gives you is almost one of sadness as he shakes his head.

“Still so bold,” he murmurs. His hands close over your shoulders, impossibly strong. “It’s attractive. But it’s not correct.”

He pushes, and your only option is to bend or break. As your knees hit the floor you look up at him again. His black hair hangs in his face as he takes in the sight of you on your knees before him, something dark and dangerous in his eyes.

You lose sight of him as he steps behind you, and then there’s a flash of pain as he grabs you by the hair.

“Allow me to remind you, mortal, since it seems you have forgotten.” His voice, soft and smooth, is in direct contrast to his iron grip. “ _This_ -“ he twists, and you bite back a scream - “is how you ask something of a god. With supplication.” His hand moves from your hair to the top of your head, fingers resting just above your eyebrows. “With honesty.”

Suddenly the room vanishes and you’re mired in your own memories. Images from your past flicker across your mind and Loki is beside you, seeing, searching. You see yourself proposing this mission to your colleagues. You see them joking about your less-than-pure motives for volunteering and you feel the god in your brain smile. 

“You see?” You’re not sure if you’re speaking out loud or just crying out internally. “You can tell I’m not lying, you can let me go.”

But he keeps paging through your memories, slowly. Intimately.

Moments of shame, of despair; Loki pulls them up one by one and examines them, tasting your pain and your humiliation. Every time in your life when you were too slow, too stupid, too _human_ …

“Stop,” you sob. “Please…Loki…”

He pauses but does not withdraw. You can still feel him in your mind, touching everything, violating you in a way that nothing in your life had ever prepared you for.

“Do you understand?” He speaks and you can feel his voice as a physical blow, cracking down your spine. “You understand what you are, compared to me?”

“Yes,” you whimper. “I’m sorry, Loki, I’m so sorry. I’ll do anything you say, just please make it stop…”

He takes his hand away and you’re alone in your own mind again. You collapse to all fours, shuddering with mingled terror and relief.

“Thank you,” you whisper into the ground. 

A soft chuckle from above, and a hand gently stroking your hair.

“That’s much better.” 

His condescending tone is infuriating and you open your mouth to protest, but his finger brushes your cheek and you fall silent. The thought of being plunged into that mental annihilation once more is too much.

“You surprise me, little scholar,” he says. “I looked into your mind and expected to find a well-hidden lie, not such a… _naked_ desire for truth. It’s been a very long time since a knowledge-seeker from your realm called on me this way.”

You look up at him, curiosity edging out your fear. “This has happened before?”

All is silent for a moment, and when Loki speaks again his voice has changed. He sounds older, not the way a man is old but the way a mountain is old. It’s as if the sound of crashing rocks and howling winds echo in his words, invoking somewhere impossibly cold and lonely.

“In the old days, it was sorcerers who worshipped me. Their petty machinations would drive them to seek my favor, in hope that I would enhance their magics. They made offerings. Mortal trinkets and dead animals, mostly. Useless to me. But there were…other gifts as well.”

He caresses the back of your neck, and you shiver.

“I was taught that it was wrong to indulge the humans in these practices, but I was young, after all. I couldn’t always resist.”

You’re freezing, you realize. His hands are like ice.

“And they didn’t suffer, those gifts. Not after they learned the way of things. As you have.”

“I’m not a gift,” you whisper.

His hand closes on your hair again, forcing you to all fours, making you crawl.

“It should be clear to you now that I decide what you are,” he growls. “You come and try to take what you’ve no right to. Now a tribute is owed, and you have nothing else to give.”

You find yourself at the edge of a bed, and you know what’s going to happen next. Resist, and whatever he does to punish you will probably have your brains running out of your ears. Your limited knowledge of Norse mythology only serves to alarm you further. You can handle pain, but you doubt you’d survive giving birth to an eight-legged horse or a giant wolf.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you manage to say as he nudges you up onto the bed and pushes you onto your back.

His clothing vanishes as he stands over you. The sight of his tautly-muscled body deepens your fear. There’s something in those lines of sinew and scar that makes you think of a predator, something lean and hungry, and the look in his eyes does the same.

“I told you, pet,” he says. “That’s up to you.”

He pounces on you, and you’ve learned enough to let him do what he wants.

Your undergarments shred between his fingers, and you worry for a moment that your skin will do the same. But there’s no pain when he touches you, just that peculiar sense of cold. At first you shiver, but you soon adjust until the places where he isn’t touching you seem uncomfortably warm.

You gasp when his teeth graze against your neck and he takes this as a sign of encouragement. You feel little marks being sucked into your skin, from behind your ear down to your shoulder. You have just enough time to wonder how the hell you’re going to explain _that_ tomorrow; then you feel his tongue tease across an erect nipple and all thought is driven from your mind.

You moan and arch your back, and you feel his laughter against your skin.

“I’m not hurting you, then?” he inquires between strokes of his tongue.

You shake your head, eyes fluttering shut, but they snap open again when his teeth close on your tender flesh.

“Answer me,” he snarls.

“No, Loki,” you sigh. It doesn’t seem so bad now, to submit to him as he demands. “Thank you.”

He groans at that, and captures your lips in a bruising kiss. 

He grinds against you, his cock hard and heavy against your thigh. When he pulls away slightly you brace yourself for him to enter you, not expecting him to be patient. Instead his cool fingers slip into the wet heat between your legs, bringing with them a shocking sense of need.

You squirm and whimper, and this makes him grin again. Green eyes blazing, he covers your mouth with his free hand and kisses you gently on the temple.

“I won’t have us interrupted,” he purrs into your ear. “And I expect you’ll scream before I’m through with you.”

He circles your clit with the lightest possible touch, just enough to have every nerve in your body singing. Desperate for more pressure, you rock your hips against him, and in response he leans more of his weight against you, trapping you against the bed.

“Be still.” He bites you on the earlobe and continues stroking with that maddening, feather-light touch. “You’re to trust me. You’ll have what you want, but only if you do exactly - as - I - say.”

He’s punctuating his words with a flick of his finger in just the right place. Every time it happens your leg muscles twitch in response, and you’re already making desperate keening noises against his hand. Still, he doesn’t give you any more pressure and he doesn’t let you move, just keeps you there on the edge and watches you with gleaming eyes.

“Would you be cursing my name now if I let you speak?” There’s a roughness to his voice now that wasn’t present before. “Or would you beg me like a good little pet? I already have your body in my thrall. Has your mind yet recognized the truth?”

Despite his restraint, you’re teetering right on the edge of your climax. You close your eyes, trying to chase that release, and he hisses, “ _Look at me_.”

You obey, and he rewards you by giving you that last push that you need. 

You fall apart, but you do it quietly, shaking and whimpering against his immobilizing force. You don’t scream until the sweet sting of your orgasm is fading and he refuses to let up. He keeps touching you, now more forcefully. Soaking wet as you are from your release, it’s harder for him to be careful, and each pass of his fingers sends electric jolts out from between your hips. These are accompanied by sharp little screams from you, muffled by his hand over your mouth and by his soft whispers of encouragement.

You begin to struggle in earnest, to which he only laughs and gives not one inch. Desperate, you scrape your teeth against his palm, catch a bit of skin and bite down hard. 

He inhales sharply and immediately both his hands withdraw from you. Your stomach plunges at the thought that you’ve made him angry, and you twist around frantically to look at him and stammer out an apology.

Before you can begin speaking he rolls on top of you and kisses you deeply, fingers burrowing into your hair.

“Wicked little girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “I’ll fuck you senseless for that.”

You’re too busy swooning at the sound of that sly, cultured voice saying _fuck_ to think of the reality of his threat for a moment. Then his cock rubs obscenely against your thigh and you remember. He’s quite large, definitely bigger than anything you’ve experienced before, and the raw strength he’s shown worries you as well. His idea of fucking you hard might well shatter you to pieces.

“I…” Your voice falters as he positions himself between your legs. “I’m not sure I can…oh _god_ …”

He’s rubbing the head of his cock against your wet folds, and your protests are cut off by another orgasm shuddering through you.

“Take it?” he finishes for you. His eyes are crazed with lust now. “You can. I’ll accept nothing else.”

He rocks forward and you gasp as the head pushes inside you. Despite his threatening tone he takes it slow, withdrawing before pushing in a little further, stretching you. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a little frightening, being so utterly at his mercy. You let your hands drift up over his arms, his shoulders, searching for some connection, something that will make you feel less like a fawn in the jaws of a wolf.

You watch his face. For the first time since he got your clothes off his eyes are shut, his brows knit tight and his breathing erratic. It’s the most human you’ve seen him look, you think. He could be any man in violent pursuit of that carnal rush, if not for what you know about him.

It takes a moment for you to recognize the feeling for what it is, so deprived you’ve been of it since Loki put his hands on you. Power. 

_He’s not human_ , you think. _He’s over a thousand years old. And that’s need on his face. Need for something from me_.

You reach up and lay your hand against his cheek. Despite his exertions, his skin is still cool to the touch, and his eyes fly open as soon as he feels the warmth of your hand.

“Loki,” you breathe, and the next time he thrusts forward you clench around him, trying to draw him deeper.

He groans and buries himself in you to the hilt, and there’s something close to wonder in his face when you draw your knees up and welcome it. 

He kisses you and then rears back, putting one hand around your throat and setting up a slow, brutal rhythm with his hips.

“Worship me.” It’s meant to be a command, but there’s an unmistakable note of pleading in there as well. His need, showing through despite all his attempts to mask it.

“You’re amazing,” you sigh, luxuriating in his grasp. “So beautiful…so _strong_ …I want to be yours, your pet, your slave…please, Loki, make me yours…”

“Yes,” he whispers through gritted teeth. “Good girl, good _girl_ …”

“You’re a god…and you bless me with your touch…with your cock…”

At that he snarls and grabs your hips, thrusting into you so hard the words die in your throat. You don’t see him come; your head is rocked back and your eyes shut. But you feel a coldness within you, filling your core, icy fingers curling around your heart. 

It seems to go for a long time. When you manage to catch your breath and look at him, he still loosely grips your hips. His head is bowed and his raven hair hides his face.

You reach up to brush it aside, and he immediately catches your wrist. His eyes are wide as he looks at first your hand, then your face. He looks startled, as if he didn’t expect you to still be here.

“Loki?” You’re beginning to tremble; from exhaustion, from shock at all that’s happened, and perhaps a little bit from fear as well. With his pale face and wide-blown eyes, he looks like a sleepwalker, just awoken and on the verge of violence.

Something shifts in his face when you say his name, and he lets out the breath he’s been holding. Slowly, he lifts the hand he’s clutching to his lips, then releases it. You see faint traces of green light flickering up your arm, traveling from the point where he touched you and up to your eyes.

“Sleep,” he says gently.

You don’t want to, but there’s no arguing with the spell he’s cast. The green light envelops you and you collapse into it, emerald shades pulsing behind your eyes while slowly deepening to black.

——

You wake up alone, in the hotel room that you glimpsed just before Loki’s charm set in. The sheets are a tangled mess, but you see your clothes folded neatly on a nearby chair, with a piece of paper sitting on top of them.

The room is cold, and you clutch a blanket around you as you get up to read the note.

_I’m not often surprised_ , it reads. _For that, and for your most enjoyable acts of devotion, I’ve granted you that for which you came. Learn what you can from it, and keep it safe. There’s power even in this token. Think well on me, Lady Scholar_.

You lift the note, and lying beneath it is a lock of shiny black hair, bound with a green strip of leather.

You dress, and you tuck the lock of hair into your purse, and as you make your way out into the street you keep your hand on it. It’s hot and cramped on the subway, but a sense of coolness pervades you. You ride home, clutching the god’s token so tightly you can feel your heartbeat pulsing in your hand.


End file.
